


We're American-Made

by ryguy



Series: Chardenisms [2]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryguy/pseuds/ryguy
Summary: What's more American than a hot summer afternoon, a broken AC, and pot brownies? Maybe patriotism, by a thin margin, but that's not what this story is about.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Dennis Reynolds
Series: Chardenisms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935652
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	We're American-Made

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Venice Bitch" by Lana Del Rey.

It's the summer of 1999, and the heatwave rolling over Philadelphia seems to be unending. Dennis is plastered on the couch in the Kelly family's basement, wearing nothing but a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and all he can think about is how the sweat under his foundation will clog his pores, or how he’ll have to ask Charlie, sooner or later, to peel him off the couch. The only wind playing with his hair is a weak breeze coming from the small table fan, the one slowly rotating between him and Charlie, who's sitting with his legs stretched out on the cool floor.

"Man, when did you say the repair guy was coming? Your stupid AC's been down for like a week, and this weather’s making me go insane."

Charlie leans in close, as close as he can to the fan now that it's facing him, eyes shut and brows drawn up. "Next Friday," he says.

Dennis groans and rolls over, taking a brownie from the pile towering on the plastic plate set on the coffee table. It’s too fudgy and too sweet, sticking to his palate as he chews on it.

“Great,” he mumbles through a mouthful, “fantastic.”

The fan makes a clicking noise as it moves again.

"I'd like to point out that no one is _forcing_ you to be here; you voluntarily came over and melted all over my couch, which is super gross, by the way."

Dennis simply scoffs and waves it off. "Details, details. Don’t get lost in them."

Charlie sneaks a peek at Dennis from under his low lids, peeping at his long limbs slung over the sofa, and his stupidly attractive face stuffed with food.

"You’re also eating all my brownies,” he points out.

Dennis pulls one knee up, scratching at a reddened bug bite.

“They were communal, to begin with.”

"Like hell they were! I made them before I knew you were dropping by.”

Dennis sits up with as little grace as imaginable, shorts riding up on his thighs. Charlie can see his very obvious tan lines, his skin white as snow on his inner thighs; he wonders if his skin feels as cold as it looks, or if it's white-hot, burning like the pavement at high noon.

Dennis seizes the opportunity to grab another brownie before Charlie could pull the plate away from him.

He snorts, his lips curving into a smug smile. “Gotcha.”

“Okay," says Charlie, "that was totally not a gotcha moment. You’re just getting the munchies, dude.”

“Munchies aside, it _was_ a gotcha moment because I—” Dennis whines. "You know what, forget it. It doesn’t matter." He bends his back lower, so his head is level with the fan. “Aah, why does it have to be so damn hot all the time?”

“Because it’s summer and summer is hot as balls."

Dennis chuckles. "What a way with words you have."

The fan ticks and turns again, and Dennis sits back, spreading his arms over the backrest. Charlie watches the rise and fall of his flushed chest and the way he fans himself with his hand.

"You could at least pretend to not be such a sarcast about it."

"A _sarcast_? I don't think that's a real word, buddy."

Charlie frowns at him. "What are you, a dictionary?"

Dennis lets out such an ugly snort, that it breaks any and all illusions of poise he had. "I'm not, I can tell you that much." He runs a hand through his hair. “Just some loser getting high in a basement.”

And this, this is what gets to Charlie; he hates how humane Dennis acts with no one around to perform for. What he hates, even more, is that he likes this Dennis.

He shakes the thought from his head, reaching for a notebook on the other end of the table. He pulls it out from under a thicker book ( _Frog and Toad Are Friends_ , from the 8th-grade scholastic book fair, a book that got unearthed last weekend from a cardboard box sitting in the corner) and flips it open, smoothing down the pages. He starts scribbling with a blunt pencil and Dennis watches him for a few minutes, eagerly. It goes on like this, until the paper under his hand creases and he switches to a marker, one that squeaks and drags.

Dennis winces at the sound.

"Since when do you do art?"

Charlie stays all too immersed, paying close attention to stay inside the squiggly lines. He holds the marker tight, fingers cramping around it.

"Hey,” Dennis says, a little louder this time, “Charlie boy."

Charlie whips his head up at the nickname. "Huh?"

Dennis points at the notebook. "What are you working on?"

Charlie picks up a gel pen and smells it, and it most likely smells like fruit and the rubber pen grip. The moment he pulls it away from his nose, Dennis notices a glittery blue speck on his skin.

“None of your business.”

He nods, as if he were satisfied with that answer.

Dennis sighs. "C'mon, don't give me that! I wanna see it."

“I’ll show you when I’m done. If you keep being all up in my ass about it, it’ll just take more time. Also, stop moving around so much!”

Dennis, driven by his morbid curiosity, can't possibly picture staying put; he pushes himself off the couch, staggering closer to Charlie on unsteady legs. He squints at the abstraction on the page, makes out a body, and limbs attached to it, and tight curls for hair, and—

"Wait, holy shit, is that me?" he asks, and without missing a beat, "Can I have it?"

Charlie tips his head back, looking up at Dennis. "Well, no, because I'm the one that drew it. It's mine."

"But you drew me, I'm assuming because you wanted to give it to me."

"I drew you because you looked—you looked good like that, like a painting..." he trails off, deciding that from a worm's-eye view, Dennis still looks like one. "Not that I plan on ripping out a whole page from my—" There's a shadow looming over Charlie's face. "Hey! Hey, Dennis, give it back!"

Dennis laughs, holding the notebook above his head. "Nope."

In a sudden move, Charlie lunges at Dennis so hard they fall on the couch tangled together, with a thud, the springs creaking under them.

"Get your pit stain out of my face, you animal!"

"Give me back my journal first!"

Charlie manages to snatch the notebook out of Dennis's hand. He looks down, but Dennis is just staring back at him with the dumbest smile on his face.

"What's so funny, shitface?"

"Nothing," Dennis mumbles through a grin, and it's not convincing in the slightest.

Charlie tosses the notebook back in the general direction of the table without looking, then grips Dennis's shoulders with both his hands.

"Spit it out, I wanna laugh, too!"

Dennis huffs out a breathy laugh. "Okay, one, that drawing looked nothing like me, I'm way more handsome than that, and two," his hand snakes up to Charlie's neck, "I think the edibles are kicking in."

Charlie leans into his touch. "And that's funny, because...?"

"Because I'm starting to think that you're kind of kissable right now."

It turns out that Dennis's skin is everything but cold; it's hot and sweaty and wanting, or at least his hand is, planted firmly on Charlie's neck. Dennis stares at his lips without subtlety, and his eyes are unlike last time, maybe a different hue of blue altogether. They're both inching to that intangible midpoint a little slower. Dennis pulls him down, Charlie's lips onto his own, and it's barely a kiss. It's apparent that Dennis kisses like he talks; and when he talks to Charlie, he's considerate.

His hand slides into Charlie's tousled hair. He pecks over the corner of his mouth, and it's so uncharacteristically timid that it makes Charlie break into a spontaneous fit of giggles.

"Am I that bad of a kisser?" Dennis asks, tone low and smooth.

Charlie just smiles back at him. "I don't know, Dennis. I think you should have another go at it."

Dennis moves his hand to Charlie's jaw, tracing his stubble until his fingertips reach his chin. He holds it between two fingers.

"Maybe I will."

Charlie nods slowly. "Maybe you will."

**Author's Note:**

>  **\+ author's notes**  
>  Thank you so much for reading! I gotta get back to working on a bigger piece for a zine, but nevertheless, I hope this was enjoyable. Don't forget that I love reading you guys' comments.
> 
> **\+ socials**  
>  Find me on [gaydennis dot tumblr dot com](https://gaydennis.tumblr.com/), loves.


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